Third Eye; Steve Rogers x Reader [reader insert]

3 (3/4)

A crisp sensation draws him to consciousness, as does the quiet sound of water. He almost thinks he's washed up on the shore, alone and deep in the forest, but then he feels cold hands on his chest and he hears a high-pitched coo.

His eyes snap open and he shoots up, shoving away whatever was next to him. As his heart hammers in his chest, he observes the rocky walls, flowers blooming from the cracks and overgrown ivy. There's a pitiful campfire by the wide entrance, sunlight pouring in followed by a slight breeze.

A disturbed squeal rings in his ears.

His senses steadily regain focus and he notices his skin. Much more skin is exposed than when he fell over the edge. In fact, he's as naked as the day he was born, but with the added shame and shock. The serum maintains his temperature but it doesn't keep him from getting embarrassed or feeling the rush of heat blossoming in his chest to his ears.

Across from him and drying on a row of stones in the sun are his clothes. His suit laid out flat, as well as his undershirt and underwear. His boots, socks and gloves are there too, but next to those is a familiar cardigan and an older tattered sweater.

His cheeks burn hotter than the sun as he looks at you again.

You're blinking slowly and yawning into your hand and clad in another thin, incredibly sheer sweater. As if his gaze physically harms you, you hurriedly shuffle back, sleep evident in your face as your legs twist. A small wet rag falls from your grasp.

Steve sits up, shielding his crotch but knocking something in the process. Next to him, his cowl wobbles, water spilling onto the rocky ground. He feels over his body searching for any injuries but as always, he's unharmed. Even though he heals instantly, he has a habit of checking.

"What—" He coughs, "S-Sorry," and rubs his chest.

Tentatively, you scoot forward. Inquisitive yet wary eyes locked on him as you nudge his cowl closer.

He brings the helmet to his mouth, sipping the cool water slowly. It soothes his throat, and when he sets it down, you swipe up and scurry to the little stream by the wide opening of the cave. The bottom of your feet are dirty, as is most of your body, along with scattered scars on your legs and arms. Faded, surprisingly well healed, but just faintly evident. He averts his gaze when the sweater lifts, exposing much of your behind.

You set the helmet on the ground again, and sit a few feet away in an unkempt pile of dirty, worn clothes and sticks and leaves. Tucking your knees to your chest, you tilt your head.

When you don't speak, Steve shifts uncomfortably. He isn't scared, but he knows you are. He can tell from the slight tremor in your hand as you scratch your head. You're so much smaller than him, weaker—and he knows you wouldn't stand a chance if he reprimanded you.

Steve clears his throat, "You saved me?"

You don't reply, tucking yourself deeper into the bundle.

He groans as he sits up, bones cracking and muscles a little achy, "I fell down the waterfall." And lost consciousness.

"...Big splash, b-because big man..." you make a quiet sploosh with your mouth.

Steve straightens at the sound of your voice, the pitch and tone, and the slow drawl of your syllables. "How long was I out for?"

You tilt your head and make a confused noise.

"How long was I unconscious for?" Steve rephases, "Sleeping?"

"Oh—Uh, sun go d-down then up again..." You answer, looking between your thighs then his. "W-What that?" You point at his large hand that actually doesn't do much to hide his shaft. You had your curiosity while he was sleeping, but you were too scared to touch him down there—especially because of how big it looked. "...big."